


We're On The Borderline

by Muusad



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Multi, Unresolved Sexual Tension, kinda sorta maybe poly, massage therapist jaskier, no beta we die like men, this fic may contain gluten
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:06:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28607982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muusad/pseuds/Muusad
Summary: Jaskier attempts to convince Geralt to stop brooding and get some sleep.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 5
Kudos: 38





	We're On The Borderline

The hour is so late that it has become early once more, dew has settled on blades of grass and flowers alike, small woodland creatures have long since begun to rest, and Jaskier was unable to do likewise due to the incredible stubbornness of a particular witcher. 

If he squints through the dimly flickering light and the haze of his exhaustion he can just barely make out Geralt’s form; he is sitting at the rented room’s small table, perched upon a stool that had legs of all different lengths, seemingly remaining balanced through stubbornness alone, frowning down at a stack of parchment. As he had been for the last several hours, resisting all entreaties to join him in this almost-comfortable attempt at a bed that the inn had so thoughtfully provided. 

This was becoming absurd and, as much as Jaskier was loathe to admit it, he had grown so used to sleeping in the same bed as the man that to be suddenly bereft of the familiar warmth had cursed him with insomnia. The most he had been able to manage were short periods of light dozing, which was not ideal in the slightest. How was he expected to maintain his customary dashing wit without his beauty sleep? No, the time had come for action.

“Geralt. In the name of all that is good and true in this world - and, mind you, that is not a very long list - won’t you please just come to bed?”

A noncommittal grunt is his only response, and Jaskier resisted the urge to release a sigh of truly epic proportions. “At least come and have a bit of a nap. You’re always telling me how you feel better when you’re rested. A nap is rest! Yennefer’s diatribe will still be there in the morning.” He paused, considering, “Later in the morning.”

Another grunt, but this one has a more conciliatory feel to it, and Geralt pointedly places his hand over the pile of parchment and shoves it away before gracefully dismounting the improbably balanced stool. Once his feet are securely transferred on the ground, Geralt stretches his arms out to the side before twisting this way and that to loosen his joints; Jaskier can hear a cacophony of pops, and he winces in sympathy at the thought of how tight and uncomfortable his witcher’s muscles must be after hunching over in such a way for so long. His fingers twitched with the desire to massage those very same aches into submission, and from the way Geralt’s eyes briefly flickered down to his hands before meeting and holding his gaze it seemed that his wayward thoughts had not gone unnoticed. 

Since Geralt seemed to be in a nonverbal mood, instead of making his offer by way of flowery prose and delightful innuendo, he instead wiggled his fingers while simultaneously waggling his eyebrows suggestively. Geralt rolled his eyes skyward in silent appeal before making his way over, but Jaskier could see the small grin tugging at the corners of the man’s mouth. 

Another victory for him, then, it seems, though as Geralt removes the loose fitting shirt in one smooth movement Jaskier’s breath caught slightly. In an attempt to regain his focus he began to rummage through the little bag he’d left lying beside the bed, leaning half-on half-off the mattress in a rather precarious manner even as Geralt made himself comfortable upon it. 

“Where is that… aha!” Jaskier triumphantly retrieved the small glass bottle of oil. Due to the magic placed upon the bottle the oil contained within was not only always at a perfect temperature but, if emptied, replenished itself on the following dawn.

Oil secured, Jaskier moved to sit astride Geralt’s upper thighs, though with most of his weight resting on his heels. There is silence between them as the oil is applied first to hands and then slowly worked into the skin of his back. The scent of cloves has permeated the air as Jaskier works his skillful fingers across the mass of painfully tight muscles. It does not escape him that, while it is clear that Geralt has relaxed somewhat it is clear that some stress remained judging by the way that his shoulder muscles continued to tense back up.

Without stopping his ministrations, Jaskier spoke, “Talk to me, Geralt; what is it? Does your Yennefer still object to my accompanying you on our adventures?”

“It’s not that, but more the idea of who belongs to who. Yennefer has, well, not approved of so much as made peace with our bond.”

A flush creeped its way up his neck to make its home on his cheeks at finally hearing Geralt put their relationship to words, “Whom.”

“What?” Gerald had half-turned in response, but allowed Jaskier to push him back down onto the bed. He had no illusions of ever truly being able to overpower his partner. Bondmate? Perhaps soon-to-be lover? Something to ponder later, though as that last line of thought occurred to him he could feel a deep pull of desire from his gut. 

For now, though, Jaskier just smiled softly to himself, “Never change, Geralt. Anyway, what was it you were saying?”

Geralt’s answering sigh transitioned smoothly to a low moan of satisfaction as Jaskier focused his efforts on a particularly stubborn knot of muscle on his lower back. Jaskier was absolutely not aroused at the sound. “She is  concerned ” he says the word with an ironic lilt that makes Jaskier think that Geralt is quoting some past conversation, “that should the current perception - that I am forming a harem - spread, it will cause damage to her reputation.” The man somehow managed to shrug while lying face-down, “Such as it is.”

Jaskier paused in his ministrations in his surprise, and ignored the low growl of protest coming from beneath him. “I thought it was obvious, though; just because you belong to Yennefer - yes, Geralt, you do, and don’t even try and deny it - and I belong to you,” here, Jaskier was pleased to note, there were no denials, “does not necessarily mean she need be anything more than a passing acquaintance of mine.”

“That is what I told her. It did no good.” He growled in frustration as he spat the words into the pillow, “Damn that djinn!”

This was a subject of ire with which Jaskier was familiar, at least in relation to Yennefer. Was it love? Lust? A twist of fate? Not even they could say, and a part of him wanted to weep in empathetic frustration. To feel so strongly about another and not be able to know whether or not it was true or a manipulation of their will must make every moment together or apart a special sort of torture that, to be quite honest, he would not wish upon anyone. 

Maybe if he found a djinn of his own? Surely he could word a wish  just so and make things that much clearer?

He shook his head slightly even as his hands resumed their work - that would not do at all. Anything involving a djinn would simply extend the existing issue and possibly worsen things, as well as remind Geralt of his own unfortunate involvement in that whole fiasco. No, the realization would have to come to them naturally, without coercion. In the meantime, Jaskier would continue on as he had been by supporting his witcher in his own small way. While he was not much more than a burdensome distraction should true violence be required, he would easily wager on his soft skills greatly out pacing those of their wayward sorceress. 

Though, as he thought of their little escapade with the djinn, he also recalled a certain comment about his musical prowess. Wearing what he was sure was a devious expression, Jaskier said, “By the way, have you, perhaps, reconsidered your opinion on the quality of my singing?”

“What?”

“You once said, and I quote, ‘It’s like ordering a pie and finding it has no filling.’ Do you still feel the same way?”

Geralt turned over quite suddenly, and Jaskier is briefly distracted by the fact that he is now straddling him in a much more exciting way, but managed to bring his attention back to the conversation at hand. Barely. 

His expression was puzzled as he said, “When was this?”

Jaskier waved his hands around vaguely to give them something to do, “Oh, it was a while ago, now; you had been dredging the lake, and I looked especially dashing that day.”

Geralt closed his eyes with a long-suffering sigh, “Do you recall that I was sleep deprived at the time?”

He waggled his eyebrows in response, “Does this mean that you changed your mind?”

“No.”

As Jaskier took a deep breath and began to compose an argument in his head, one finger raised dramatically, Geralt reached up to place a hand directly over his heart, and their gazes lock intently. Jaskier found himself in the rare position of being struck speechless.

“You misunderstand me. Your singing voice is,” he seemed to struggle with the word before settling on, “pleasant. What you sing about is something else entirely. I was not disparaging the instrument, merely the way it is put to use.”

“Oh. Well. I don’t necessarily disagree, you know, but you know how the people are.” He grinned down at him, “Imagine if I were to serenade farmers about the woes of army logistics or the finer points of maritime law.”

Geralt gives a considering hum even as he rests his hands lightly on Jaskier’s hips. The motion, combined with the fact that they have yet to break eye contact, is enough to make Jaskier’s mouth suddenly dry. However, instead of reciprocating and sending both of them hurtling down a path he knew for a fact that they both wanted, he decided to wait for now. He only hated himself a little as he gives Geralt a light tap on the nose before sliding off of him to lie on the bed at his side.

They shared a companionable silence for some time, lying side by side on a bed that was frankly far too small for such an arrangement, and Jaskier found himself scooting closer to Geralt who obligingly lifted his arm to allow the bard to shift onto his side and rest his head upon his chest. Geralt’s hand came back down to rest lightly on his hip, and as they did every night these days they began to breathe as one. Despite how fervently Jaskier wanted to bask in this moment forever, as he finally felt Geralt fully relax as he dropped into sleep, he stopped resisting the siren song of rest as he lay snuggled up against his witcher and allowed sleep to claim him. 


End file.
